


All These Bruises On My Wings

by Poemsingreenink



Series: Sing To The End [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Everybody Lives, M/M, but kind of broken, emma cullen in a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: Just because you fought for something doesn’t mean you get to keep it.





	

The day Emma Cullen decided to leave Rose Creek the leaves on the trees were so green they looked like clusters of emeralds. The susurrus of the wind sliding through them filled the silence of Clara Goodwin’s little house, and for a moment Emma wondered if Clara had heard her news or if she should repeat herself.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Clara said, her arms covered if flour as she slapped a lump of dough onto the table. “You’re a good woman, and most good women here don’t stay single for long.”

It wasn’t a jibe, just a fact. Clara had been wed only a month after Bouge left her widowed outside of a burning church with a baby in her arms. Little Patience was almost two now, and under Emma’s watchful eye she worked her own small lump of dough into a round flat shape.

“We have to rebuild our lives Emma,” Clara continued. Her attention was on the dough, but her voice was filled with such warmth that it made Emma’s heart ache. “It’s the only thing to do in a world full of all this horror. Mold life out of death.”

Emma leaned forward to help Patience shape her bread, laying her hands over the girl’s tiny ones. If the little thing noticed how cold they were she didn’t complain.

“But you have to figure out how you want to start, darling, and you have to do it before the choice gets made for you. Time won’t wait. It’s not its nature. Can you pass me that pan there?”

Emma was gone by the next morning. Bag packed, skirts traded for long pants, rifle loaded and riding a horse she’d purchased with the money from her farm. She didn’t stop at Mathew’s grave. What explanation could she possibly offer him?

 

* * *

 

 

Life on the farm had come with a rhythm to it. Mondays for washings, Tuesdays for baking, Wednesdays for mending, and so on, but sandwiched between the winking stars and the swaying yellow prairie grass she felt the boundaries of the day, the week, the month melt away like candle wax

With no children to fill it, and no relations in the West, Emma’s home had been an empty one. She’d spent most of her days taking care of the livestock, and worrying about how she’d handle the farm in the planting season. At night, under her red and blue patched quilt with nothing but the owls to sing her to sleep she’d thought she understood what it was to be alone.

She’d been wrong. So long as neither her farm nor Rose Creek trudged away into the night she’d always known where to go to find companionship. She’d had visits to Clara and little Patience. She’d had church on Sundays, and her weekly trips to the general store. Out under the wide Texas sky all she had was her horse, and her own babbling thoughts.

She knew her way around the dangers of nature thanks in part to her father who’d taught her to hunt, and in part to her mother who’d taught her herbs. She hunted rabbits for supper, built fires against the cold, and at night when dreams of screaming men and Mathew’s slowing heart woke her she traced the constellations with her finger (Pegasus, Cassiopeia, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, North Star) until she fell back asleep.

It was people Emma was most wary of; worse than snakes, and more dangerous than coyotes where the groups of men who occasionally crossed her path. She always hid. That was the smart thing to do. She was alone, and no one would come looking for her if she disappeared, swallowed in one gulp by the vast empty sky. Still, every time she’d emerge to shake the dust out of her pants, and lead her horse in the opposite direction her body would ache with a rage that took hours to sooth.  

One night, a group of particularly rough looking characters pitched their tents directly under the group of rocks she’d climbed atop. She spent three days face down on her belly waiting for them to leave. Every time her stomach growled her heart pounded hard against her chest, and every time she snuck a drink from her canteen she was sure the light from the sun would catch the metal clasp and give her away.

The group left a body behind, and as they rode off across the fields Emma wept into her hands and decided that maybe a few nights in a town would be good for her.

 

* * *

 

 

The town’s name was Gold Flower, and the name transformed all of Emma’s sick, frightened nerves into a more familiar anger. Something she truly appreciated.  

The heavens had opened up on her ride, and she was drenched and shivering when she entered civilization. She fought the urge to hunch further under the brim of her hat when she passed by the warmly lit windows, and saw faces inspecting her.

_“Let men see prey, and that’s all they’ll see forever,”_ was the last thing her mother had told her before she and Mathew left Pennsylvania for life in a wilder place.

She put a rod in her backbone and rode on.

It didn’t take long to learn that the only inn doubled as the saloon, which doubled as a whore house because of course it did. She was considering begging for shelter at the church when a flash of lighting lit up the day, and she spotted a very familiar figure on the other side of the saloon’s plate-glass window.

Emma entered and was immediately enfolded by a familiar, boisterous voice.

“- will hit that teeny, tiny little shoe off that man’s head,” Goodnight Robicheaux called. “Do I have any takers?”

Billy Rocks was waiting on the other end of the room, hat off, and a knife in hand. A man with a ruddy face, giggling and obviously drunk as a skunk stood flush against the wall with a baby booty balanced atop his head.

“What are my takers, gentleman and-” Goodnight made a wide sweep of the room, his face beaming a smile so strong it rivaled the bright lightening outside. His eyes landed on Emma and he froze. ”….ladies?”

 

It took Billy two tries to pull his knife out of the saloon’s wall, and by then Goodnight had ushered Emma to an empty table before rushing around the room to collect their winnings. They both returned at the same time with plates of warm food, and mugs of beer.

“I don’t drink, but I appreciate the gift,” Emma said. “You have it.”

Goodnight accepted the mug with a shrug, and settled across from her. In a move that would have felt bizarre less than a year ago Billy Rocks took her wet, dripping hair into his hands, and swiftly pinned it up. He gave her a pat on the shoulder before sliding into the seat next to Goodnight.

“How come you never do my hair?” Goodnight asked.

“Yours isn’t as pretty as hers,” Billy responded.

“That is hurtful Billy. No matter how true it might be. I am truly hurt by that criticism of my appearance.”

“I’ve been thinking of cutting my hair actually,” Emma admitted.

“Whatever for?” Goodnight asked.

“It’s a little long for travel.”

Goodnight laughed. “No one’s ever told Billy that, and I would grumble for days if he did. It is a far less dramatic end to most back alley brawls if he’s got no hair to stick that hair pin into.”

Billy ignored him, and dunked a slice of the hard bread into his soup which seemed to consist of hot water with a few carrots floating in it. Not that Emma Cullen had ever been too good for a warm meal, and she was hungry enough to ignore how it burned her tongue on the way down. It might have lacked in nutrition, but it still warmed her from the inside out.

“Please don’t say you need a bunch of us to ride back into town to help you kill another land stealer,” Goodnight said. “I don’t know where half of them are, and I do feel that I’ve met my quota for near death experiences for a least another year.”

Emma shook her head. “No, I’ve just been traveling these past few months. I figured a night in a bed would do me good, and I saw you through the window.”

“And young Teddy Q is tramping across the wide prairie lands with you I’m guessing?” Goodnight said. “What was that man thinking letting you come in here on your own?”

A heat that had nothing to do with the soup, flushed across Emma’s chest and cheeks.

“No,” she corrected. “No, it’s just been me. I left Rose Creek about two months ago, and I’ve been traveling on my own.”

Goodnight shared a look with Billy that Emma couldn’t read. Discomfort crawled under her skin, and she wanted to grab both of them by the collar. Shake them until their hats fell off, and the meaning came loose.

“I am difficult man to surprise, Mrs. Cullen,” Goodnight said, slowly. “And you have done it at least three times since I’ve made the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Teddy was preparing to ask for my hand,” Emma said with a rush. “In fact, I suspect that he’d been preparing to ask for my hand since I flagged down Mr. Chisholm.”

She wasn’t stupid. She knew when a man enjoyed her company in more than just a friendly way, and Teddy had been as clumsy and earnest as a new puppy whenever he’d been in her company.

“Ah,” Goodnight leaned back in his chair. “And you were afraid he would attempt to- _push_ the issue?

“Lord no,” she said. “Teddy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was just courting me. Walked me back from church a few times. Brought me flowers. Pretty yellow things he picked himself.”

“How very proper of young Teddy,” Goodnight said.

God knows she’d stalled for as long as possible, but maneuvering around Teddy’s heart had been so draining. She’d never been all that good with the world’s tender feelings, and was so much better at putting a bullet in a man’s brain than soft no in his ear. Sometimes she’d wanted to scream at him. Shout, “Can’t you leave me be!” when he appeared at her elbow, but that would have made her feel like a monster, and even killing men from atop a whore house hadn’t made her feel like that.

It wasn’t until she’d seen the circle of gold peeking out of Teddy’s pocket that she’d panicked. Unable to breathe as a path that she couldn’t stand the sight of unspooled in front of her.  

“Do you want me to kill him,” Billy asked. 

“My god Billy,” Goodnight chuckled. “That was one of our sworn brothers in arms. How could you entertain the idea?”

Billy swallowed a mouthful of bread and soup. “I never liked him. He abandoned my knife class.”

“No,” Emma said firmly. “That will not be necessary. Teddy was just the push I needed to leave. I can’t stay there. It know, it sounds ridiculous. I spent all that time fighting so I could go back to my home and make a life, but when I finally had it in my hands I couldn’t grab hold of it anymore. I just slid through my fingers like dust.”

She didn’t choke on the last word. Nothing so dramatic, but the little warmth the soup had brought to her flesh was gone, and Goodnight was looking at her with eyes full of such pity that Emma almost went bolting back into the storm just to escape it.

“I do believe,” he said, gently sliding the mug of beer back her way. “That you might want to start drinking Mrs. Cullen.”

 

They insisted on sharing their room, and Emma couldn’t fault their logic. It was strange to feel more like prey surrounded by men then in the open land, and the realization caused anger to toss away bit and bridal and go sprinting through her.

There were two beds in the room. One still made and covered with various belongings, and the other a mess of blankets and sheets.

“How long have you been here?” Emma asked.

“Five days,” Billy said, gathering knives, gun oil, and ruck sacks off the bed. “Too long. It’s time to move on.”

Behind him Goodnight coughed, and Emma saw another indecipherable look pass between them. She wasn't a complete fool, but she was exhausted and decided that sleep was favorable to worrying all that much about things that weren't her business.

Lying in the dark, on a bed that felt far too soft after two months of rolling over sharp rocks, sleep evaded Emma. She could hear the piano downstairs. The creek of steps as patrons headed for their rooms, and a faint moaning she knew how to pinpoint without much fuss.

The storm outside had gotten worse since she came inside, and at vicious crack of thunder shook the building. Goodnight muttered, and flung his arm over Billy's middle. Billy slept like his namesake, and didn't stir.

She wondered where Sam Chisolm was at this moment. Waiting out the storm in a warm room with a companion? Alone in a cave? So far from this state that he wasn't even aware there was a storm at all? It was a dangerous world, especially for a man like Mr. Chisolm, and hoping that he was somewhere warm and safe seemed like the least she could do considering the task he'd accomplished for her.

Lightening lit up the room again, and in the dark Emma saw that Billy had linked his hand through the one Goodnight had thrown over him. She rolled to face the wall for politeness sake.

The world was a dangerous place for a lot of folk.

She slept.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning Billy was gone, and Goodnight was dressed and resting atop the bed cleaning his gun.

Rain still pelted against the window, and Emma grimaced at the sight.

Goodnight spat into his polishing cloth, and then blushed when he saw she was awake.

"My apologies and good morning, Mrs. Cullen."

Emma nodded. "Shame over a little spit when I'm in nothing but my nightdress seems a bit ridiculous, Mr. Robicheaux."

Goodnight coughed, and to Emma's amusement turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Billy’s scrounging up a morning meal for us all,” he said, hurriedly.

"That is kind, but unnecessary," Emma said. "I had imposed on both of you for too long. I can at least get my own meal before I leave town."

Goodnight set his rifle to the side, and cocked his head. He studied her with an intensity that Emma returned until his eyes slide away. She'd never been good at being the first to break.

"Billy and I had a bit of a chat while you were asleep," he said, carefully. "Mrs. Cullen, not that you aren’t as terrifying as one of Odin’s Valkyries, but in this world Billy and I have discovered that it truly is safety in numbers. If you’re not ready to go back to Rose Creek we'd welcome your company.”

Emma considered this. "I wouldn't want to impose. How would I pull my weight between the two of you?"

He grinned. "I forget you've never seen us at work. Billy and I have a lovely little system rigged up, but believe me when I say that adding a pretty lady with hair like fire, and aim like Diana herself wouldn't be any kind of trial."

Emma's education had included women with names like Mary, Ruth, Eve and Sarah, but never a Diana with a gun or whatever a Valkyrie was. She grabbed hold of the words and gently turned them over searching for a familiar groove, but it was like asking her mind to carve an unknown constellation out of the night. 

"Can I have a moment to consider?" she asked.

There was a knock on the door, and Billy stuck his head back inside. His hair was loose over his shoulders, and he smiled at Goodnight before noticing Emma was awake.

"Mrs. Emma," he greeted, face smoothing over.

"Mr. Rocks," she said. "Your friend was just explaining your offer of companionship."

Billy watched her expectantly, and when no answer came Goodnight climbed off the bed and headed for the door.

"We won't be going anywhere for at least another day with this rain," Goodnight commented. "Take your time and think it over Mrs. Cullen. We'll be downstairs."

They closed the door gently behind them, and Emma pushed the covers away. There was a clean pitcher of water in the corner that she used to wash her face, and rinse out her mouth before pulling on fresh clothes.

There was curiosity waking up inside of her. An interest in the world, in words she'd never heard and a life she'd never considered coming to life in a heart she'd been ignoring since Mathew bled out in her arms.

There was a cracked mirror in the corner, and when she'd made herself presentable she took her long red hair in hand. She ran it between her fingers, letting the strands twist around her knuckles as she considered. Finally, she braided it high and tight atop her head, and went downstairs to eat.  

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeted....I should really stop doing that. I'm over on Tumblr as Poemsingreenink if you're interested in saying hello. 
> 
> If you wanted to you might be able to set this in the same timeline as Lady Lazarus.


End file.
